Midnight Toast
by da-angel729
Summary: The jar appeared on her desk between 2243 and 2315, long after anyone should've been in her office, a folded piece of printer paper beneath it.


**_Author's Note: _**Set in Season One, after _Broca Divide_ but before _Singularity. _This is my first time writing in this fandom so con crit especially welcome. Written for for** picfor1000** at LiveJournal with a prompt picture of a jar of Nutella.

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**Midnight Toast**

The jar appeared on her desk between 2243 and 2315, long after anyone should've been in her office, a folded piece of paper beneath it. Janet could've sworn she'd locked her door before her last set of rounds. Someone had a key, which narrowed it down to SFs or the janitors. Or they picked a lock. She was on a military base, after all, and since she knew how, Janet was certain others did, too.

She hadn't been at Cheyenne Mountain long, and though she had the respect of base personnel, she had no idea who would invade her office. Janet stared at the small jar sitting on her desk, debating whether to call security. Surely nothing bad could come from a jar of Nutella? And it ihad/i been a busy day.

SG-4 returned from P3X-729 infected with _something_. Sexually attracted to someone of the same gender, the all-male team had been horribly embarrassed about their behavior in the Gate Room. They'd practically mauled each other. And General Hammond, who took it rather well, considering.

Considering it spread through touch and General Hammond currently occupied one of 13 isolation rooms in use by those affected. She had no idea how to cure it, though the labs were running and analyzing blood, soil, and plant samples from the planet. The biologists were sure they'd find a solution, but Janet wasn't getting her hopes up. She wasn't an optimist.

Then SG-8 came in hot, and the CO, Major Mathis, crumpled to the ramp just after emerging from the event horizon, leg bleeding. Lieutenant Gregson, the newest member of the team and on his first mission, had practically been in shock and couldn't form coherent sentences. Colonel O'Neill, temporarily in charge while General Hammond was unavailable, had sequestered himself in his office with the Lieutenant and Captain Malcolm, 2IC of SG-8. According to the rumor mill, he'd conducted an impromptu counseling session. No one could actually confirm this, Janet learned later. She' overheard Major Mathis and Captain Malcolm in the private room she'd given to the Major discussing the Lieutenant and Captain Malcolm seemed certain he'd be fine.

It had taken four hours to repair and set Major Mathis' leg properly, and it would be at least three months before he could go back on the mission roster. Janet briefed Colonel O'Neill, who'd listened closely and then nodded. She'd later seen him in his office organizing personnel folders for General Hammond, who'd approve either a temporary replacement for Major Mathis or disperse the healthy members to other teams.

Sighing, Janet sat down at the desk and opened the folded piece of paper, pushing the jar aside. There was a single line of typed text, centered in the middle of the page. _It's delicious on toast_. No signature, no greeting, but as her stomach growled she realized she hadn't eaten since lunch and should eat before heading to sleep.

The Commissary never closed completely, due to the nature of the program, though no hot food was served after dinner. Janet entered, jar in one hand, and headed straight for the toaster. She'd try the Nutella, she decided as she selected the proper setting.

Toast ready, she grabbed a knife and turned toward the tables. Her eye was caught by a lone figure sitting in the corner. It was Colonel O'Neill, folders stacked in two piles in front of him and a coffee mug in his left hand. He was writing on a notebook placed next to the folders.

"Sir."

He looked up, eyes slightly out of focus. They cleared and he smiled tiredly, waving a hand at the chair across from him.

"Doc," he said. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"Shouldn't you, sir?" Janet asked, sitting down and setting her plate of toast on the table.

He shrugged, and set his pen down on the table. "I want to have this paperwork finished before tomorrow."

Janet knew what he meant. The scientists working on a cure would not have a solution tomorrow. Colonel O'Neill wanted to focus his attention on _new _disasters. Disasters were inevitable. There wasn't a day in the SGC that didn't have a disaster, after all. Janet knew that better than anyone.

"Why aren't you sleeping?"

"I needed to eat," she told him, gesturing to the toast and the jar of Nutella in front of her.

"Ah, Nutella," he said. "Good stuff."

"I haven't had it before," she said, picking up a slice.

It was good, Janet admitted as she finished her first piece. She liked chocolate, but there was another flavor that kept the chocolate from being overpowering.

"Where'd it come from?"

"Someone left the jar on my desk with a note."

"Secret admirer?" He grinned at her, taking a sip of his coffee.

She snorted, smiling back. "Hardly, sir. Just someone being nice."

Janet figured it was more than likely someone playing a trick on her, though she couldn't figure out why or how. Someone with too much time on their hands, but she didn't know anyone at the mountain with enough free time.

"When did you first try it, sir?"

Colonel O'Neill set his coffee mug on the table. He picked up his pen and twirled it through his fingers. "Hospital, Germany. One of the nurses was trying to cheer us up. It worked, too, for a bit."

Knowing enough of his medical history to not press further, Janet finished off her toast and stood up. "I'm off to sleep. You should go, too, sir."

He shrugged, still looking at the pen in his hand. She stared at him for a moment, and pushed the jar of Nutella toward him.

"Enjoy, sir."

He smiled, a little, and gave it back to her. "I'm fine, Doc. I'm off to sleep myself."

Janet smiled back and pocketed the jar in the front of her lab coat. Leaving the commissary, she headed toward her quarters, depositing the Nutella in the refrigerator. She'd have more tomorrow, if she needed it.

And she'd work.


End file.
